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As strange as it is that I’m writing this letter to you, I feel it is necessary. I don’t miss you per-say, but who you were last summer. I know we were never really friends, we didn’t run in the same “clique” on the kitchen staff last year. We still aren’t really friends, and I haven’t seen you in a week or so. No one else seems to notice your absence, but for some reason I do. Last summer, you were always laughing or joking or hitting on Deb, who I also miss. But this year you’ve changed and everyone is speculating different things. All ranging from drugs, to family problems to school problems, and so on. It’s obvious you’re depressed, and you isolate yourself so much it’s hard to tell what’s wrong, which is clearly what you want. I seem to be the only one (but maybe I’m just self-centered and recognize only myself in this situation) to be making an effort to talk to you. Obviously, my approach is to annoy you and attempt to bitch-slap you out of your depression, at least for the 8 hours a day we see each other, but still. But now I’m nervous… maybe it’s just my incredible paranoia or maybe it’s just psycho-girl theories, but I hope you haven’t done anything. Because, even though all we are is co-workers, not even friends, I would miss you terribly.